


salt, blood and expensive alcohol

by misschevalier



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Fake AH Crew, It's really short, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-14
Updated: 2015-05-14
Packaged: 2018-03-30 11:12:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3934660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misschevalier/pseuds/misschevalier
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based over a tumblr post that said: <i>I can’t wait for the day that instead of “It’s late, I have to go.” you will say “It’s late, let’s go to bed.”</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	salt, blood and expensive alcohol

**uno**.

“It’s late, I have to go.” Geoff said, after being in silence for a while.

Ryan turned his head when he heard Geoff’s voice.

Both of them were sitting on the hood of the car, looking the sun hiding under the sea. They could hear the strong yet soothing waves hitting the rocks and, over their heads, some birds flying by. It was a very quiet afternoon and they were alone. Just them.

Well, them being Geoff, Ryan, and the gangster in the car trunk, a man that was causing problems on Los Santos. (Problems meaning gang attacks, blocking their drug deals and trying to take their customers with some stupid gossip.) Of course, the person on the trunk didn’t mean anything for them.

It was still Geoff and Ryan.

Geoff pulled Ryan’s mask, as if he was asking for permission to take it off.

Ryan’s hand covered Geoff’s tattooed one and pulled the rubber mask off of his head and, following that, Geoff kissed him sweetly. Ryan could taste the sea salt and the expensive whiskey on his boss lips, along with some blood coming from his own mouth. He giggled softly when he felt Geoff biting his lip.

“I have to go,” Geoff repeated. “Can you take care of dumping the body?” He asked, jumping off the hood of the car, walking around it to open the back door and take one of the guns that were lying on the seat. Ryan wasn’t looking him, instead, fixing his hair into a low ponytail before putting his mask back on.

“Yeah, sure,” Ryan answered and, when he heard another car coming close, he jumped of the hood too. “Jack’s coming to pick you up?” He asked, searching on his pockets for one pair of latex gloves, after all, he didn’t want to get his hands dirty with blood- at least, not this  _asshole_ ’s blood.

“Michael, actually,” Geoff answered, looking at Ryan putting his gloves and his jacket. Both of them looked at each other in silence before Michael honked his car’s horn. “I’ll see you later,” and after that, Geoff got into Michael’s car and both of them drove off.

Ryan looked back into the sunset before opening the trunk and hearing the man screaming under the tape he had on his mouth. “Shut up,” Ryan groaned in annoyance. “I want to go home soon and I’ll make it fast, so you’re getting lucky here, my friend.”

The news the next morning was filled with the words  _dead body_ ,  _dismemberment_ and _no head._

Geoff was satisfied with Ryan’s work.

 ------

**dos**.

“It’s late, I have to go.” Ryan mumbled, Geoff’s lips pressed into his.

Ryan actually felt lightheaded because Geoff’s hands were all over his body (they were wandering over his chest, and his hips, and his thighs, and his ass) and Geoff’s kisses were like a drug to him, he could never get enough of them, even when he dislikes the taste of alcohol, it’s what makes Geoff’s kisses the best.

“It’s too late,” he said, panting. They’ve been making out for a while on Geoff’s bed but Ryan felt his phone vibrate for the sixth time, and then he knew it was already time to go. “Geoff, seriously.”

“Fine,” Geoff pushed him away as if he was tired of hearing him. Ryan got up from the bed before answering his phone, walking outside the room so Geoff wouldn’t hear.

Ryan was part of the crew but he still was the mad mercenary that Los Santos knew about, and if someone had something that interested him, Ryan wouldn’t doubt on taking a job. Geoff sometimes thought that he should sit down with him and just say “you’re part of the crew, you shouldn’t take any more jobs, dude.”

(Maybe because he was afraid one day he would open his front door and he would find Ryan’s head on his welcome mat or maybe because he would get antsy those days without him around and all he wanted was drown himself in alcohol or, maybe, he was just being selfish and he wanted Ryan for himself.)

Geoff was upset and, right now, that’s all he felt.

Ryan returned and he just stood there at the door, looking at Geoff in the bed.

“Go, I thought it was too late.” Geoff said, venom running in his words and before he could open his mouth again, Ryan was picking up his jacket from the floor and taking his guns. He left without saying anything.

He had to go, after all.

 ------

**tres**.

The crew kind of knew about them but, at first, everyone thought that they hated each other.

Sometimes Geoff would get into discussions with Ryan, both of them closing the office door and scream until their throats were raw and hurt just talking. The Crew would be sitting in the living room when the sound of a door closing hard rang through the floor, then, everyone knew that the fight was over and that neither of them would be seen for the next few hours.

Sometimes Ray would catch them in the kitchen.

Geoff would be sitting on the table with a glass on his hand and Ryan, sitting on a chair in front of him, without a mask. Both of them would be talking softly about something that for Ray wouldn’t make sense but, often enough, they laughed and smiled at each other.

Sometimes Gavin would catch them in the meeting room.

Both of them would be sitting in front of a table, Los Santos’ map extend across it. They would have markers and papers around them, sticky notes and photos of whatever they were going to hit for their next heist. Gavin could hear Geoff’s soft talking before asking Ryan “how does that sound?” as if he was searching for mercenary’s approve.

Sometimes Jack would catch them in the safehouse.

They hid there after their heist, waiting for the police to forget about them a while. Jack would be trying to stop Geoff’s bleeding, a bullet on his shoulder. Ryan would be pacing around the house, waiting for Caleb to come and check his boss because he absolutely hates seeing him hurt.

All of them had something in common.

One of them would always say “I have to go.”

Ray heard Ryan saying it to Geoff, before getting up and leaving.

Geoff replied “I don’t want you to leave” but didn’t move.

Gavin heard Geoff get a call before disappearing and not coming back again.

Ryan stayed in the meeting room all night.

Jack heard Ryan leaving, after getting out the room with Geoff and Caleb.

Geoff slept through the whole night.

Then, they would see each other again and fight all the night inside Geoff’s office.

 ------

**cuatro**.

“It’s late, I have to go.”

The words echoed around the room; the only response he got back was that stupid beating coming from the machine that read Ryan’s heartbeat. He wanted to crawl onto the bed, sit over Ryan and shake the life into him again. He wanted to scream, he wanted to kiss him, beat the shit out of him…

He just wanted Ryan back.

He was there because the fucking work Ryan accepted went gone wrong.

The Mad Mercenary got caught between snipers; he didn’t notice them until it was too late and, of course, everyone knew that dodging a bullet that you didn’t know it was coming is something impossible to do. Geoff, of course, didn’t know this. He received a blank text and screamed at Jack and Michael Ryan’s position, phone in hand trying to get hold of Caleb, blurting out “ _I don’t know if he’s dead or not, just prepare everything_.”

He wasn’t shaking.

Blank texts were only used in emergency occasions.

He wasn’t crying.

When Michael and Jack arrived to the closest safehouse with Ryan, Geoff’s blood ran cold. Jack was almost carrying Ryan while Michael did his best to press the man’s injury in his chest. Ryan was pale and, if it wasn’t for the bearded man, he wouldn’t be able to walk to the house in those conditions.

“I have to go,” Geoff whispered, his hand on Ryan’s knuckles, his thumb caressing over the “gent” tattoo. He looked at his own and smiled. “I’ll come back, I promise.”

When he came back, Ryan’s blue eyes met him.

 ------

**uno más.**

“It’s late, let’s go to bed.”

Ryan looked up and found Geoff’s blue eyes looking at him. He was without breath for a moment because did his boss actually say that? He shifted on his seat and groaned, his chest still hurt from the wound.

“To bed?” Ryan repeated back, a confused tone lingering on his words.

“Yeah, to our bed,” Geoff looked at him for a moment, before adding “or well, you can stay here all night working on the heist by yourself, but you know what that means: any damage will be on your-”

“Bed? Together?” Ryan stopped the other one in his tracks. “Why? I thought-”

“You thought badly. I don’t want to take my eyes off you, Haywood,” Geoff answered, honestly. “It’s late and I’m not letting you  _leave._ Itold you, I don’t want you to leave.” Ryan realized it’s was true. Maybe they fought and screamed at each other, maybe they were the most insane couple in Los Santos; they were always found their way back to each other.

“Are you coming or not?” Geoff asked and Ryan just took his hand, before kissing him.

His boss always tasted like expensive alcohol and, even when they were kilometers away from the sea, he could still feel the salt and the blood that mixed with it. He loved it.

“Let’s go to bed then.”

**Author's Note:**

> find me [@tumblr](http://somespontaneouswriting.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
